Patrick's Mother
by Mondie
Summary: Short *finished* story about Patrick's mother. *obviously* Includes who I've always thought was Patrick, from the very first time I saw the movie. Please R&R. :)


PM Chapter 1  
"Patrick? Patrick, wheah are you?" A woman with her brown hair pulled up into a messy bun searched the face of every street urchin she saw. "Please, God, let 'im be all right!"  
"Dat poor lady," Racetrack said as he shouldered his papes, staring at her as she began to cry, covering her face with her hands as sobs racked her body and she fell, defeated, in the street. "Cain't she jus' realize dat Patrick don' live heah no moah? She comes out heah ev'ry day lookin' fer 'im."  
"Maybe dat's all she CAN do, Race," answered Jack quietly, watching as Mush helped the lady up. She shook her head when he tried to give her money, and wandered off with tears still dripping from her eyes.  
"I'se wish I'se could help 'er find' 'er son," Mush said sadly as he joined Race and Jack on the sidewalk.  
"Yeah, well, we'se gotsta help ourselves right now," Jack answered, as cheerfully as he could. He attempted a smile and began to yell out headlines.  
**  
Catherine, Patrick's mother, put her head down in her arms and cried. "C'mon, get to woik," said the overseer, Mrs. Phelps, but kindly, which was not her usual disposition.  
"Ten years today he's been gone," Catherine said, looking around her workplace, which was a woman's shop. All around her sat women, sewing, and they all looked sympathetic as their fingers deftly tugged the strings and needles through fabric, making clothes for the elite women of the city.  
"How ol' was 'e again when 'e left?" a new girl, Anna, barely eighteen, asked, frowning down at the blue gown she was stitching. Everyone else ducked their heads, wondering if the question would bring more gales of tears from Catherine.  
But she managed to smile a little. " 'E was but six when 'e left," she said, "An' da darlinges' boy dat eveh lived. 'E'd jus' toined six da week befoah, so 'e'd jus' barely be sixteen now." She thought of her adorable baby boy with his big blue eyes and chestnut brown hair. He'd been skinny, like his father before him.  
Joseph... it had been easier to deal with the pain of losing Patrick back when Joseph, Patrick's father, was still alive. He'd died two years before, and with him vanished all certainty that Patrick would come back. Joseph had always been the optimist, and had always insisted that if Catherine just keep searching, keep searching, she'd find Patrick. Since Joseph had passed, Catherine's search had only become more frenzied, as her constant asking of him had increased from a weekly occurrence to daily, but it had also become less certain. She no longer KNEW that Patrick would come back home. Most days she was able to calmly inquire to the passing newsies or any young factory worker she saw if they knew the whereabouts of her son; today, on the anniversary of his leaving, it was an entirely different story.  
She knew Patrick was still alive. And she knew he was still in the city. She just couldn't find him. But she knew, for his sake, that she could never give up.  
She picked up a yellow frock for the mayor's youngest daughter and threaded her needle. The other women were silently glad, and didn't comment on the tears which sometimes dampened the bright yellow cloth.  
**  
"Heah she comes," said Mush out of the corner of his mouth to Jack, and felt his sorrow increase for the woman. Her hair was falling out of its bun from the day's work, and she was trudging along, dispirited. He gave her a big smile as she walked by. "Hiya, ma'am. How was yer day?"  
She tried to smile, but couldn't succeed. "A'right. An' yous, kind lil sir?"  
He kept his smile. "Coulda been betteh, but den it coulda been woise, too." He fell into step next to her, and she looked over in surprise.  
"Why is you walkin' wit' me?" she questioned.  
He looked surprised. "Oh, I didn' mean nuttin' by it, ma'am!" Jack came to walk on her other side. Mush continued, "I'se jus' wan'ed ta see if dere was any way I'se could help ya find ya son. Me an' Jack, we's know everyone in dese parts. If Patrick's heah, we kin find 'im."  
She looked at him, as if believing he was too good to be true, but even all her doubt in his true goodness couldn't hide the glimmer of hope shining her eyes. "Well, 'e'd be about you's age, wit' blue eyes an' brown hair, an' 'e used ta be really skinny back when 'e was lil." She looked at him hopefully.  
Mush looked as if he was compiling a list in his mind that very instant. "Well, I's gots a coupla guys I kin check," he said. "I'se shoah dey'd answeh if I'se jus' ast 'em if dey's name is Patrick."  
"I'll help 'im, lady," said Jack, nodding at her. "Dis is Mush, and I's Jack Kelly. We'll find yer lil boy, if he's anywheres in New Yawk."  
"I'm much obliged to ya," she answered, as they reached her little apartment building. "Thank ya, Mush an' Jack. I'se hope ya can help me."  
"I'se hope we kin, too," Mush told Jack as the two of them headed to Tibby's restaurant.  
**  
"If you'se could be any animal, what'd you be?" Dutchy asked that night at Tibby's to a tableful of newsies.  
"A spidah," decided Bumlets. "Dey's gets ta make da webs and suck the life outta deir prey." He walked over to Boots and pretended to strangle him.  
"Spidahs ain't animals!" yelled Snipeshooter. "Dey's bugs! I'd wanna be a tigah," he continued, not taking a breath. "Dey's big an' ferocious." He stood on his chair and pretended to be a tiger, roaring.  
"I'd wanna be a fish," decided Jack, sitting at the table. "Able ta swim whereveh I wan'ed."  
"Yeah, until you'se get eaten, Jackie Boy!" said Spot, who came out of the shadows next to the table. Jack jumped, because he hadn't seen Spot sitting there. Then he laughed. Spot finished the game, "I don' care what I'd be, as long as I could be free. Livin' in fancy places ain't fer me. I'se neveh bin so happy as da day when I'se ran away from home. An' me parents, I'se bettin' dey didn' even notice I'd left. An' who cares if dey did? I wouldn' go back, not fer a million dollahs!"  
"Amen!" cried the other newsies who too had run away, lifting their glasses in a toast to Spot's statement.  
Mush stared at him for a moment. He was adding it up in his head: brown hair, blue eyes, skinny, Mush's age... "Spot, what's yer real name?"  
**  
Lying in her lonely bed with only the outside stars to keep her company for the rest of her life, Catherine Conlon cried herself to sleep. 


End file.
